


Happy Jack Wasn't Old

by Icanseenow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Slash, Sam Winchester Big Bang 2020, Sastiel - Freeform, Season/Series 14, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanseenow/pseuds/Icanseenow
Summary: There are many things Jack is too young to know. Fresh snow on his skin, the secret to a perfect hot chocolate (according to Dean), and  the meaning of family. Sam is ready to teach him.Or: Sam and Castiel know being parents can be painful.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76
Collections: Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019-20





	Happy Jack Wasn't Old

**Author's Note:**

> When I saw that there was a Sam Winchester Bang, I just couldn't resist! Thanks to SWBB mods for doing all the hard organisation work. 
> 
> Many thanks to the incredibly talented Threshie both for creating such wonderful art work for my story and for making my first Bang so enjoyable. I was, and still am, so thrilled to get you as an artist! You really brought my happy Jack in the snow to life! 
> 
> Thanks greentam, for the wonderful & swift beta!
> 
> I was really sad at the lack of The Who-related Jack things, after he mentioned liking them, so I couldn't resist borrowing from their song "Happy Jack" for this.

There was a comfortable silence. Jack pressed his nose against the car window. Just like Sam's, his eyes were glued to the couple outside maneuvering an enormous Christmas tree from one side of the street to the other. The tree was at least 10 feet long. The woman's hands cramped around its stump, while the man wrestled with the net-wrapped crown. The middle of the trunk bent dangerously close to the asphalt.

A gust of wind came and almost blew the tree out of the couple's tight grip, and the woman held onto her hat with one hand.

Sam considered getting out of the car to help. But then both figures, and the tree, were already off the street, and Sam was still in the same place behind the wheel.

"Does a tree feel pain when it gets slaughtered?" Jack asked. He seemed young then. Not quite his actual age of two years, but younger than his youthful body implied.

Sam stifled a laugh. "No, a tree doesn't feel pain when it gets cut down."

"I've read that trees can bleed." Jack looked at him with wide eyes. "If you are bleeding, you're hurt and it’s painful. It's the same with Dean. Even Castiel can feel pain, and he’s an angel. Why would it not hurt for a tree?"

Sam's fingers dug into the upper side of the car window. "Trees don't have a nervous system, so they can't experience pain."

Jack looked unsure. "Do I have a nervous system?"

"Of course you do."

"Really? But I can put a knife into me and hardly feel anything. Why?"

It was a good question. Sam turned his body towards the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. "Can you feel this?"

Jack furrowed his brow. "Your hand? Yes. Of course I can."

"Well," Sam squeezed his shoulder, willed him to understand, "then you've got a nervous system."

-

Dean grimaced and wrinkled his nose, as he shut the door of the car with a lot more force than necessary. It made Sam wince. He wouldn't dream of slamming the door like that. He would never have heard the end of it.

When it came to Baby, Dean was the same he was with people he cared about. He'd never allow anyone else to mistreat the car like he sometimes did. Something about the difference between Bona vacantia and the right of possession was buzzing around in Sam's head. Phrases from another life. Memories of something that seemed very far away.

Sam leaned against the car and watched his brother walk up and down the vacant parking space.

"I don't really get why you're so upset anyway," Sam shrugged. "Jack just asked him if he wanted to tag along, so he did."

Dean stopped walking and raised his hands towards the sky. It looked ridiculously grandiose. "That's not the point, Sammy. It's about the principle! If you say you're gonna be somewhere, you gotta be there. I don't have time for flaky people."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, cause you've never ditched anything or anyone before, because something 'more important' came up."

"Stop that," Dean said, raising his forefinger into the air. "Don't do that thing. That thing. Putting things in quotation marks. I know exactly what you're trying to do here."

"Yeah. What am I trying to do?" Sam couldn’t resist a slight smile. It was a risky move. In the wrong situations something like an innocuous smirk was enough to set his brother off.

"You're trying to make me forget that I'm pissed at Cas. But that's not gonna work. This guy needs to get his feathery ass down here, pronto. He said he'd be here. So he should be here." Maybe Dean realized just how stupid he sounded. His face twitched, as if unsure whether to go with anger or amusement.

"I just don't know what the big deal is, if - "

"It's the principle, Sam!"

"Isn't it a good thing when Jack gets to spend some time outside? You keep saying that you don't like him tagging along to hunts with us, but you also don't want him stuck in the bunker all the time." Sam buried his hands inside his jacket. "So this is perfect for everyone, right?"

"I like knowing where Jack is without having him around, yeah. But this isn't about Jack," Dean claimed. He crossed his arms and shook his head vigorously. "It's about-"

"The principle. I get it." Sam huffed. "Dean, it's just a stupid movie. And honestly? You're being a little rude. _I'm_ still here. That not good enough for you anymore?"

Dean watched him with a scrutinizing look. "Of course not." He thought for a moment. "I mean: of course it is. Wait." He shook his head in irritation. "Whichever way is the right way to say that you're good enough."

"Okay, why-" Sam suddenly realized what was happening. It was so silly, he wanted to smack his forehead. "Dude!" he said. "You gotta be shitting me." It was so obvious now, he should have thought of it earlier. "It's that stupid coupon, isn't it? The Christmas special? Buy three tickets and get a huge bucket of salted caramel popcorn for free? _That's_ why you're so pissed that Cas ditched you?" Sam had to laugh out loud. He pushed himself away from the car, grabbed Dean by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him toward the cinema.

"I never said that." Dean allowed himself to be led away without any resistance. "It is about the principle," he said with even less conviction. "The salted caramel popcorn would have just been a nice bonus."

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam laughed again. "I'll pay for your goddamn popcorn if you'll stop complaining." As an afterthought he added, "And stop being angry with Cas and Jack. It's good when they get to spend some quality time together."

Dean pulled a face at that, but then decided to go back to the popcorn part instead. "You know why salted caramel is the best popcorn flavor?"

Sam groaned.

-

"You know what makes a hot chocolate really great?" Dean asked. He leaned over the Diner table as if he was going to let someone in a secret. Sam wasn't sure if Dean was addressing Castiel or Jack, who were both sitting opposite them.

"Is it the type of milk?" Jack wondered. He placed his forearms on the squeaking plastic-coated table and leaned forward, mimicking Dean.

"I would think that taking proper care of the cocoa plant would be a necessary contributor?" Castiel suspected. "As would the optimum roasting degree of the bean."

"Do you even roast cocoa beans?" Sam wondered out aloud. "Like you would roast coffee beans?"

Castiel returned his gaze. "I’m not sure. Aren't cocoa beans in their raw state too bitter for human consumption?"

"They're pretty bitter, but you can definitely eat them raw," Sam knew from experience. "They're actually pretty good for you. They contain something called Flavonols, that helps with high blood pressure." He cleared his throat. "But yeah, I'm not sure how your regular cocoa powder is produced. They grind down the beans into powder, obviously, but I don't know how they're treated beforehand." It suddenly felt strange and embarrassing, not knowing. "They extract fat from the powder, don't they?" He looked around the table. Blank faces were staring back at him. "And there's different kinds of powder. Like Dutch and..."

He couldn't think of any other names.

The plastic Santa Claus near the entrance of the diner, blocking the pathway in and out, repeated his monotonous "Ho Ho Ho" chant. Someone had kicked in his left plastic boot.

Castiel looked very thoughtful. He blinked at Sam a few times before saying, "The Aztecs held cocoa beans in such high esteem that they used it as a means of payment. A turkey was worth 200 cocoa beans."

"I remember reading that too." Sam smiled. "In a book about useless facts."

"Useless!" Dean piped up. "That's right. Useless facts." He shook his head in what could only be described as disgust. "It's pretty obvious you all have no idea about hot chocolate. Who cares how the stuff is produced? It's about the taste!" He shook his head again. "Fucking nerds."

"What is the correct answer?" Jack asked. The way he stretched his neck towards Dean reminded Sam of a starving dinosaur reaching for the highest leaves up a tree.

Dean was glad to have regained the undivided attention of at least one person at the table. "Okay, hang on," he told Jack, and raised his eyebrows. "Watch me, I'm gonna show it you."

He nodded in the direction of the young waitress approaching their table, a tray with their drinks in her hand. She was wearing a red dress and a Santa hat, and Sam winced. Given the many decorations in the diner and her sour face, he was pretty sure her attire hadn't been her own choice. He smiled at her with sympathy, but she didn't take notice of him. She handed him his coffee while she studied Castiel and Jack. "And three hot chocolates."

Castiel frowned at the cup of brown liquid that was set down in front of him. Dean had ordered it for him without asking.

"Hey," Dean put on his widest, most charming smile. "You gotta have some whipped cream somewhere around here, right? In one of these huge industrial size cans?"

"Whipped cream costs extra."

Dean's face twisted in irritation, then he nodded. "What about cinnamon? Sprinkles? Syrup? You know, the whole nine yards?"

She shrugged listlessly. "I can check in the back." She turned back to Castiel with a lot more interest. "Nice trench coat. Don't you get cold in that, with all the snow?"

"I never get cold," Castiel replied in a matter-of-fact tone. She continued watching him in fascination, until Dean snapped his finger to get her attention. "Hey, listen, I’ll get you his number, if you can hook us up with the works. Alright?"

Both Castiel and Sam shot Dean an irritated look. The waitress roller her eyes, but within the blink of an eye, she was back with what Dean had asked for.

Sam pulled his coffee into a safe distance, away from the others' monstrosities. The whipped cream towers stood so high that they almost seemed cartoonish.

"I'm not sure if this is still drinkable," Sam told Castiel, whose cup looked the most bizarre. Dean had been very generous with the pink sprinkles.

Dean nudged Sam’s side. "Don't be such a party pooper."

"No, I'm being serious. I'm not sure if this is still _physically_ drinkable." Sam rubbed over the sensitive spot. "How would you drink this? You can't. Just lifting the cups, you're gonna spill everything. You can't get to the hot chocolate with all that stuff on top of it. Unless you're gonna eat it all with a spoon."

Jack carefully approached his own cup. His cream tower had a thick layer of brown powder. He sniffed and had to sneeze. "Sorry," Jack said, quickly wiping his nose with his sleeve of his shirt. "I inhaled the cinnamon by accident."

Sam looked at Dean, silent reproach in his eyes.

"And this," Castiel arched an eyebrow, "is the secret to a perfect hot chocolate?"

"Almost." Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask. He grinned. " _This_ is the secret to a really good hot chocolate."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Dean, you can't-"

"Jack's a big boy," said Dean, turning to face the boy, "aren't you?"

"I am 5 foot 8."

"Yeah, you see, Sam? He's 5 feet 8."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's smug grin. Somehow Dean managed to get some of the alcohol into the already overflowing cups.

"And what now?" Jack asked more than eagerly.

"Hey!" Dean turned towards the diner and snapped his fingers until the waitress took notice. He pointed at their table. "Could we get a round of straws over here?"

In the background, plastic Santa's "Ho Ho Ho" got quieter and quieter, until it completely stopped. The fuse was blown.

-

"God damn it!"

Sam ducked at the last moment. The tape dispenser slammed against the wall behind him and broke into several pieces, raining onto the floor. The single roll of tape rolled on for a bit longer, until it disappeared from Sam's view.

"This is crap! It doesn't stick at all!"

Dean's face was stained with red blotches.

Jack picked up the package. It was shoddily wrapped in kitschy red wrapping paper with carrot-nosed snowmen on it. Dean grabbed for it and fetched it out of Jack's hands.

Sam tried to remember if he'd ever seen Dean wrapping presents before.

"I only wanted to help you," Jack said. He stepped back in fear.

Dean leaned protectively over the package on the table. "Forget it. I won't let you help pack your own present."

Jack's demeanor changed at once. His shoulders relaxed, his spine lengthened. He almost seemed to glow in content, as he beamed at Sam, who smiled back.

-

"Is Jesus my uncle?" Jack sat up straight in his chair. The heads of the others turned to him.

Even Dean looked up from his laptop and grunted an "Sorry, what?"

"Is Jesus my uncle?" Jack repeated louder and with emphasis.

Sam choked on his coffee and started coughing. Castiel awkwardly slapped his back, and only stopped when Sam promised him he was fine. Sam tore his eyes from Castiel's worried face, and caught Dean giving him a strange look.

"What do you mean, Jack?" Castiel asked, deliberately pushing his book aside.

"My grandfather - God," Jack added, as if any of them could have forgotten his lineage, "impregnated Mary. Jesus was raised by Mary and Joseph, but his true father was God. At least that's what the Bible says. Lucifer is also the son of God, and I am Lucifer's son, so that would make me Jesus' nephew, right?" He looked at them all in turn with wide eyes.

Sam frowned. Dean mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Psycho'.

"No," Castiel said firmly. "You're not Jesus' nephew. First of all, God wasn't Jesus' biological father. He was his father in the same way as he was my father. Jesus isn't one of my brothers. And although Lucifer is my brother, you are not my nephew." He looked at Jack intently. "You're my _son_."

"But-" Jack opened his mouth. Sam put his hand on his forearm to silence him.

"Besides," Dean pointed out, chewing gleefully on a piece of pizza that had appeared out of nowhere, "there was this whole immaculate conception thing with Jesus. But Lucifer and Kelly were going at it pretty - "

"Dean." Sam shut his brother up with a sharp look.

"What's that?" Jack blinked. "Immaculate Conception?"

-

"Mm," was the only sound coming from Castiel. His forehead furrowed, he was watching Jack as he rolled out the dough.

Jack paused and looked up at Castiel. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, your rolling technique is immaculate. I just still can't shake the feeling that we forgot something. Would you hand me Dean's list again?"

Jack turned around and pulled out a piece of paper from under one of the bowls. He handed the note to Castiel. The dough from his hands now stuck to Castiel's fingers as well. "Sugar," Castiel read out loud. "I do not remember us putting sugar into the dough."

"I think we need more flour." Jack grabbed the bag of flour and poured its entire contents on top of the dough which had already been rolled out. "That should be enough, right?"

Sam suddenly stood beside them, his hands as flour-dusted as Jack's. They were silent as they cut out cookies.

"The angels are a little burned," Jack realized as he pulled them out of the oven. "But the squirrels and moose look good."

"Watch out," Sam warned as Castiel reached for a squirrel and shoved it into his mouth. "They're still extremely hot."

Castiel chewed in silence.

"So?" Jack looked at him, excitement in his eyes.

Sam was reminded of a wine connoisseur as he watched Castiel slowly move the cookie mass around his mouth before eventually swallowing. "I maintain that cookies usually contain sugar."

Sam quickly pulled back the hand that had already touched one of the slightly browned angels.

"What did you use instead?" he asked.

Jack and Castiel looked at each other indecisively. Only now Sam noticed that Castiel was completely covered in flour too. His clean trench coat hung neatly over the back of a chair. But his suit, his face and his hair were all dusted in a layer of white.

"I think," Castiel had noticed Sam's look. He used the back of his hand to wipe some flour from his cheek, "that we should wait for Dean's return before starting on the next batch."

-

Jack looked up at the sky. Then he closed his eyes and opened his face up for the snow flakes to fall onto his skin. They melted upon contact, creating soft spots of water on his cheeks, his eyebrows. Droplets on his eyelashes.

Sam watched him for a while. When he walked up to him, Jack opened his eyes and returned his gaze.

"So? What do you think?" Sam asked. He tried to remember what it felt like to see and feel the snow for the very first time. There were vague memories of himself playing in the snow, most of them including Dean, but none that stood out as 'firsts'.

"It's very cold," Jack said. He wiped the flakes from his face, but his hair and eyebrows immediately caught new crystals. Everything was strangely ablaze and dark at once. The sky black, the snow under their feet almost shining white. "And it's beautiful."

Sam stood next to him, looking up at the sky, aware that Jack was watching him. He opened his mouth, pushed out his tongue, let the snow fall into it and melt at his body's heat.

It did not take long before Jack imitated him, and stretched out his tongue in the cold air.

"Guys, where are you?" Dean called from somewhere far away. "You can't build a proper snowman by yourself."

-

Jack stood outside, knee-deep in firm layers of white. He stretched out his arms and threw his arms back, welcoming the snow. He started moving around his own axis. His movements were tentative at first, but his confidence grew with every turn. He laughed, mouth wide open, while he spun faster and faster. Always faster, until he disappeared into a dust of white.

-

"It's not possible for me to eat too many of these for me," Jack said. "I could just heal myself, if my teeth really started rotting."

Sam frowned.

"Jack is right," Castiel said. "Sugary foods cannot harm him." He looked at Sam with sympathy.

"But-" Sam tried to say.

"Sh!" Dean put a finger to Sam's lips. "You heard these two. Forget about your health fascism at least for the holiday season, huh?"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his brother.

"That's such a cheap manipulation, Dean," he hissed when Castiel and Jack were out of earshot. "You can't just buy him a bulk pack of Snickers as a Christmas present."

"Can't I? Who's stopping me?" Dean shrugged. "You're just jealous because you didn't think of it yourself. It's the perfect present."

When Sam did not answer quickly enough, Dean laughed. "Don't worry, Sam." Dean nodded towards Jack, who stood with Castiel in the other corner of the room. Jack immediately waved at Dean with fervor when he noticed him looking. Castiel tilted his head in question, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

A wave of jealousy hit Sam. It passed, when Dean clapped his shoulder. "Don't worry, Sammy," he said. "Not everyone can be the cool uncle."

-

The Christmas tree's enormous size made it look obscene. The top was squeezed under the bunker's ceiling, and in width it took up so much space that Sam had ran into it on more than one occasion already. He couldn't remember how they had managed to carry that thing down the stairs.

The red and golden ornaments and the red candles Dean had put on the tree reminded Sam of a Sears catalogue from the 60s. Even Jack, in his teddy pajamas, sitting on the floor in the midst of presents, fit into the old-fashioned image. He looked up when he noticed Sam. "I didn't open any of the presents," he promised quickly. "Dean said he'd kill me if everything isn't in the exact same spot tomorrow."

Sam made his way through the gift towers. He dropped to his knees in front of the tree beside the boy, and put his hand on Jack's shoulder. They gazed over the tree. Sam caught their reflection in one of the red baubles. Jack had noticed too. He moved his face in different directions, and watched in fascination as the size of his reflected nose changed. Sam did the same.

Slowly, Jack turned to him. "I did open one of the presents already," he said meekly. "But I only peeked and I closed it up again immediately. I was simply too curious." He looked at Sam as if he had just confused committing a murder. "Does that make me evil?"

"No. It's fine." Sam rubbed over Jack's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure Dean would have done the same thing."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

It took a moment for Jack to believe him, then he nodded.

"It was a record by The Who," he said. "Live at Leeds."

"Of course it was..." Sam huffed. He pushed himself up, and held out his hand to Jack to help him up.

"Dean said if I ever want to get Pete Townshend's Windmill right, I'd have to practice a lot." Jack hesitated. "I'm not exactly what that means, but I'll make sure of it."

"Do you actually like the band?" Sam asked. The 'Or is that just another attempt of trying to win over Dean's affection?' was left unsaid.

"Of course I do!" Jack looked almost offended. It did not last long, before his face melted into the hopeful yet insecure expression he often carried. _"Happy Jack,"_ he sang, _"wasn't old, but he was a man."_ What he lacked in pitch accuracy, he made up for with enthusiasm. _"The kids couldn't hurt Jack, they tried, tried, tried."_

-

Sam had his arms wrapped tightly around Jack's upper body. As tight as the buffer of down jackets between them would allow.

"I'm scared," Jack mumbled, staring down into the deep nothing opening up before them. The slope was steep and the air in front of them in a flurry of so much snow, that everything was grey rather than white. You could not see the valley, and the trees in the distance were nothing but guesses.

"You don't have to be scared," Sam said.

Jack turned his head towards him. Sam knew that look. He had seen it so many times before. The fear to disappoint, the need for reassurance.

"Trust me," Sam said. "The sledge is completely safe. You're safe with me. Just hold on tight."

"But what if I'm doing something wrong?"

"You can't do anything wrong." Sam shook his head. "I am here. Nothing is going to happen to you."

-

"What are you thinking about?" Castiel turned Sam's hand in his, traced one of the lines of his palm.

"I'm not really thinking about anything," Sam admitted.

Sunshine broke through the wall of curtains, drawing a line from the windowsill to Castiel's socked right foot. Sam felt the strong urge to draw the foot upward, let it rest in his lap.

"How are you feeling?" Castiel tilted his head, scanning Sam's face with an interrogative arch of his eyebrow.

"I'm good." And he was. He felt happy, calm. A puzzled smile spread over his face, as he realized that he couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt so at peace. Long before hell, that much was clear. "I'm really good, Cas," Sam said and squeezed the other’s hand.

-

The spider looked like a tarantula, only much bigger. It was about 1.5 times the size of Sam's head. He didn't understand how it had managed to climb into his pillowcase and stay there unnoticed for so long. Maybe it was a curse or a spell. Maybe they had accidentally set free the animal free when they'd rummaged through the bunker. Whatever that thing was and how it had gotten here, its intent was clear.

Dressed in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, Sam stood in the center of his bed and looked around for a suitable weapon. But anything that would have given him a chance against the hairy animal was on the other side of the room.

"Damn," Sam muttered. Then he shouted, "Dean! Cas! I could use some help in here!"

His voice aggravated the animal further. Its fangs moved quicker, louder and louder. Just as the spider jumped, the door opened.

"Jack?" Sam asked in surprise, when he saw the blond hair appear in the room. The spider crashed onto the bed and knocked Sam over. In no time it had spun its threads around his middle and arms. The sticky web Sam made it impossible for him to move. He knew what would happen next.

He heard a loud crash. A white light lit up the whole room, shining through the dense cocoon, and blinded Sam. Then a loud cry. Silence.

Someone approached him. Shook his body softly. There was air again. He could move.

"Are you alright, Sam?"

Jack had a wallpaper cutter in his hand. He'd apparently used it to cut through the hardened spider web. He dropped the cutter to the ground and helped Sam up.

"Thank you." Sam tried to pull the cobwebs out of his hair, but they were completely stuck.

"I think I'm gonna need a shower," Sam said. "And a lot of conditioner."

"I hope that's enough," Jack said. "I'm not sure if you can get that stuff out of your hair at all? Maybe you'll have to see a hairdresser."

"What?" Sam asked.

"To get all of your hair cut off," Jack smiled, as Sam was filled with dread.

-

Sam leaned into the gentle touch that his father's hand offered against his shoulder.

Jack lay in his cot, his fat baby legs kicking off the blanket. Sam reached into the cot, adjusted the blanket in a trained swift move and turned to John.

His father smelled of the old leather jacket around his shoulders. His eyes were glassy, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as he put his hand on Sam's neck. His grip was firm, his fingers rough and warm.

"Dad," Sam began, but John shut him with a single shake of his head.

He placed the hand that did not hold Sam onto the rim of the cot. He bit his lower lip and shook his head again, as if too touched to bring out the words. Eventually he spoke.

"I'm so proud of you, Sam."

-

Santa held Jack's body over his knee. Heaving with post-fight exhaustion, he let go of the knife that was stuck deep inside the boy's chest.

When he turned his body around, his red coat swirling over the dust of the bunker's floor, Sam recognized the face as Lucifer's.

It was Nick's mouth that twisted into a smile as he dropped Jack's lifeless body to the floor with a loud clang.

"Jack!" Sam shouted, noticing that he was unable to move. His legs were heavy like lead and would not budge. He could do nothing but shout. "Jack!"

Nick disappeared; his body dissolved into thin air. But without his vessel, Lucifer grew and grew. He shone bright and hideous. His wings surrounded everything, swallowed its surroundings whole. The bunker was long gone. There was nothing human about the voice that spoke. The Enochian cut through the air, pierced Sam's ears as daggers.

"You really thought you had a chance?" He saw and heard nothing but Lucifer. It filled the room, penetrating Sam's body, both of them swelling until they threatened to burst from the pressure. It was effortless, the way Lucifer took his breath away. Took him over completely, limb by limb, and bit by bit, until there was nothing left that belonged to Sam himself. Lucifer's words echoed inside him, but he heard that it was his own voice speaking now. "You really had hope? Now?" Sam sneered at himself. "After everything that happened? After everything you've done? You really thought you could protect him? You thought you wouldn't fail? Sam... I would have expected some humility from you by now."

The sound of an explosion, a red glow taking over Sam's sight, before the library came back into view. Sam gasped, breathed in eagerly, until his lungs hurt. Eventually, his body was his again, and he breathed in regular if still sharp intakes and exhales.

The bunker was empty and familiar; there was no trace of Lucifer or Jack.

Dean stepped out of the darkness towards him. He stopped only when he'd reached Sam's crouching figure on the floor. He pulled Sam into a tight embrace, who reciprocated with the same fervor, holding onto his brother as onto a raft.

He rested his head on Dean's shoulder, and among the thrum of his own heartbeat, he heard his brother whisper.

"You knew it would end like this," Dean said, stroking over Sam's hair. "We knew that things with Jack wouldn't work out. You should have listened to me."

-

The room was so dark that it took Sam a while until he sensed he was no longer alone. Castiel stood at the door, waiting.

Sam sat up in his bed and wiped over the film of sweat on his forehead. His hair was sticky. He glanced in Castiel's direction. He couldn't make out much more than his outlines, but there was no mistaking him.

Castiel approached the bed. He moved in firm but slow steps, before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Sam swallowed, pulling his body towards the headrest until he was sitting completely upright. He turned on the bedside lamp.

"Did I scream?" he asked, knowing it would not be the first time. He hoped it hadn't woken Dean.

A curt nod. "Jack?"

Sam nodded as well.

They were silent. Castiel shoved a cup into Sam's hands, that Sam hadn't noticed him carrying. The metal was warm to the touch. The smell of valerian penetrated Sam's nose.

"Thank you."

"I'm glad I don't require sleep," Castiel said. "On the other hand," he added after a moment of silence, "it means that I have more time alone with my own thoughts. A lot more time to mourn in waking."

Sam wanted to say something sympathetic, but the right words did not come. Jack's lifeless eyes were too present. As was the smell of the blood, fusing with the scent of the tea.

"Do you want to share your dream with me?" Sam did not know if that was what he wanted. But Castiel's eyes were filled with longing. As if Sam's dreams could somehow bring him closer to Jack. If only he could share new experiences with him, even if they were just fictional.

"It was a nightmare?" Castiel asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"No," Sam said. "Well. Parts of it. At the end it was a nightmare. But not all of it. It was also... a lot of normal things. Christmas. Baking cookies. Wrapping presents. Stuff like that." He cleared his throat.

"All the things he will never get to experience," Castiel understood.

"Yeah." Sam lifted the cup to his lips and blew into the herbal tea. Warmth hit his nose and he lowered the cup again, without taking a sip.

Castiel looked at him again with the same longing-sad eyes. "Would you share them with me?"

"I-"

"You don't have to tell me," Castiel said. He raised two fingers into the air.

Sam nodded. He was a little uncomfortable giving him access to his thoughts. But if a little gesture like this could help Castiel heal, who would he be to deny him that?

Sam pushed his legs out of bed, put down the cup and pulled himself to the edge of the bed next to Castiel. His bare legs shivered against the cold air.

It only took a second and Sam almost did not feel it. But he saw it in Castiel's melancholy smile, that vanished near the end.

"He would have appreciated the Christmas tree," Castiel said.

Sam wanted to reach out, touch his hand, just briefly. He was not sure whether out of concern or because he was looking for closeness himself. They usually did not do that. Sharing their grief. Talking about Jack. Maybe they should have. Maybe it would have helped.

The moment passed. Castiel got up. "Thank you," he said. And then, after a pause, "You were a good father to him."

"You, too."

They both had to think the same thing. That it was not true. That if it had been true, he would still be here.

A layer of grief overcast Castiel's face, grief that he would try to deal with on his own.

The door closed. Sam rubbed over his freezing thighs. He felt as if Castiel had let a cool breeze into the room by leaving.

Sam glanced back at his bed, considered lying down again to let the warmth from under the blankets shake off the cold. But he knew the sheets were still sticky with sweat.

He could get up, and go to Castiel. It was not too late to change, to talk about things.

If Sam dug deep enough inside him, there was still some hope left. That unshakeable irrational thing he clung to to get through the days.

He got up, collected the clothes for the day and headed for a shower. There was so much work to do. The wheels of evil did not sleep, and they certainly did not care about Sam Winchester's grief.


End file.
